Survival
by Varoth
Summary: A lone beggar, near death, is saved and given a chance at redemption. Finally accepted by a group, what happens after they effectively disappear? Can he survive on his own and save his world from destruction?


Chapter 1

The Beggar

It seemed as if I would never amount to anything. I was either twelve or fifteen, and with nothing more than the rags on my back. I was coarse, not too bright and certainly far from others being envious of my looks. I was a haggard, ragged thing, starved but with just enough desperation in my eyes to struggle forth to life. My skin was differently colored, depending on the amount of dirt concealing the surface. Parts of my skin were certainly tan, but others were most definitely dark brown. As if fortune hadn't already been cruel enough, I had a repulsive stench that penetrated even the strongest of perfumes. My hair was a sort of long, greasy mop, and perplexingly it was ebony russet to the tip. I actually was tall, and if I had been properly brought up (with food) I could have been well built. Unfortunately, I was constantly looked down upon and had absolutely no figure of authority. With age, my occupation grew more arduous, to the point where when I awoke in the morning I was living dead.

My 'career,' preposterous as it was, was begging. Certainly it wasn't much of a profession, but I preferred to think of it as a skill. Unfortunately, it was a talent I lacked. As I gained more years, I became repugnant to the rest of society-which is to say all the non-beggars. I forced myself into life each day and collapsed at sundown. I was often mocked and insulted, as were all of my stature. Of course, being one of the more loathed beggars, I was thrashed around almost regularly twice a week.

The only possible thing worse than begging for food was begging for a job. That never worked, and was entirely unnecessary. Quite honestly, I was hated more so just for asking.

I lived in the Imperial City, mostly in Backwater. The Imperial City had a varying degree of people; it was a blending of cultures, people, and ideas. At one end of town, the rich lived in lavish heaven. Commonly called the 'Imperialists,' they were under the notion that they ran the city. They also were under the impression that they should expand their relative kingdoms by taking over beggar-infested nests. If any beggar were to go into the North section of town, he or she would be forcibly stopped by the city guard.

The Guard consisted of men (and only men) who were completely decked out in iron or steel plate mail, complete with helm, broadsword and tower shield. Oddly enough, archers wore the exact same outfit, except that there was a longsword instead of broadsword and no shield (obviously they wielded a bow as a primary weapon). Every guard was hardcore and well trained. For the few that weren't, they still had to be massive and muscular in order to even be hired. However, even in peak physical condition, the burdensome greaves were a problem. While the guards were professionals at close range combat, they knew nothing about chase because they couldn't run at all!

Once, while begging, I saw a pair of brothers get confronted about stealing some rare books. The unmistakably older, stronger-looking one gave a brisk nod to his smaller brother. The brother sprinted off, leaving the other to do battle with the guard. The guard didn't even bother a fleeting glance at the sibling who ran off. Instead, he readied his sword and shield. The youth unsheathed a hidden short sword with the grip of one who has previously wielded a weapon. Surprisingly, the boy managed to strike the first blow. More impressive, somehow he slid the blade behind the shield. Yet the sword (and it was clearly well made) bounced harmlessly off the guard's chest. Shocked, the youth barely saw the guard's steel before it brutally hewed through his neck. Before the body slumped to the ground, the brawny guard delivered two more fatal blows, even though his opponent had plainly been dead from the first strike. I quailed inside. It was from that experience that I decided crime was not going to be my way. Begging was far safer.

The guards were also very honest, which was extraordinary in such a large city. They never had corrupt members, and bribery was in no way ever accepted. The miniscule few who did were usually caught and exiled from the city. Fees and fines were just, and while they were not low, they certainly weren't unpayable. Unless one was a beggar, like me. The guards only stopped beggars from going to the Imperialist's section of town for their safety. The Imperialists held a lot of power in their domain. For that matter, some had small private armies protecting their mansions, but all had, at the very least, one skilled bodyguard. Beggars were obviously frowned upon, but the Imperialists treated us like scum. That isn't to say that an Imperialist would simply brush a beggar out of the way as an annoyance. Imperialists would have their bodyguards kill him. Of course, the body was never left in that part of town. No, the wealthy were smarter than that. They would have one of their guardians drop off the body in Backwater, and then we would be blamed for the death of our kinsman.

Backwater was definitely a beggar's haven, although it certainly wasn't much of anything. Maybe a third of the place was submerged under water, and the whole place was just mud. A few sparse shacks littered the ground, but otherwise there was nothing. Originally, a small part of Backwater was used as a port, so it was paved with stone and had a pier. However, no ships traveled through that route, as there was a much better place to dock in the high end of the city. Backwater was often called the 'Beggar's Back' because it was the one place that supported beggars and because all the beggars lived there.

I wasn't very good with words, which explained my predicament. Some of the prosperous beggars practically received a daily toll! I knew of a few who had a nice set of clothes and lived in a cheap hostel or inn. Those were the ones who could have stopped begging and actually gotten a job, but they persisted and took the coppers away from me.

I didn't know how to count, and so I never was sure if I asked too much. Once or twice I asked for silver instead of a copper. The man I had been begging to gave me a sharp look full of scorn and said, "Aren't you the greedy beggar?" He scowled and left.

Yet, even when all I asked for was a copper, no one gave it to me anyway. I found myself going to sleep without any food, sometimes days in a row. All I possessed for sustenance was the cold, muddy water of Beggar's Back. Only on days in which I truly felt as though death was imminent, did I ever receive coins.

It was one of those days when I collapsed from sheer exhaustion in the middle of the bazaar. The marketplace was enormous. Each day it resembled a new labyrinth of people and stalls. The majority of the merchants, or at least those who owned booths, changed places each day or two. Some merely wandered around, wearing their personal market on their back. The location stretched out over a mile long, with only a general shape. The whole idea in of itself was a problem; there was no way of finding a specific item. A merchant might be selling knives next to someone selling dresses behind a booth vending animals of various species. The place was also unbearably loud. Violent bargaining, fierce cursing, and beggars begging for food were a few of the many annoying noises. Moreover, beggars were beaten and thieves ran free through the crowds. This was the one time that the Guard never stood a chance against the thieves. They couldn't very well give chase, and shooting arrows into the immense crowd proved unquestionably fatal to someone. But the someone tended to be a someone other than the thief. Therefore, this was the only time that the thieves had an advantage over the guards. But that wasn't my line of work. I wasn't yet ready to die.

Interestingly, I had fallen between two rich, competing merchants. Not well off enough to be Imperialists, but close. I was lying on a main street, the type that only the early wakers get to place their booths on. The stands were still side-by-side, but being a central street there was about six feet between the stalls facing each other. As I lay, dishearted but still not willing to give up, I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. I yielded to the touch as it gently flipped me to my back. I recognized the man immediately as one who had given me money before. He was average height, and with a well kept beard. I scrambled to my feet, with his support. He looked intently at me-straight in the eye-and asked,

"What did you do with the three coppers I gave you?" I couldn't even remember.

"I…spent it on food." I guessed, reasonably, that this is what I would have done.

He stared at me for what felt like I long time. Finally, he broke the silence, saying,

"Come with me."

At first I felt unsure, as though this might lead to a beating. I mumbled incoherently and he turned around. He reached out and touched my shoulder and suddenly I felt like I should go with him. After all, he had given me three coppers-a lot of money! Even so, I had no idea where we were going to go. I fought the rather trivial argument in my head, although it didn't last long. Somehow, oddly enough, I felt as though going with this man-a man whose name I didn't even know-was the right thing to do. I nodded.

He took his hand off of me and the feeling diminished, but not enough to give me doubts. I followed him obediently, making sure that I never lost track of him through the twists and turns of the labyrinth. We left and went into the higher end of town. There was no trouble, because everyone was still at the bazaar.

At first, I thought we were heading straight into the city, into a part where I wouldn't be safe, but then he stopped and turned to me.

"Are you," he said, "wondering where we are going?"

I looked around. I had no idea where we were, as the buildings were tall and straight, with some space between them. There were no open roofs, and few cracks in the stone.

"Are you even listening to me?" The man said, looking at me even as I stared off into the air. I inclined my head slightly, to show I was listening.

"Ah. Thank you for your attention. Are you wondering where it is we are going?"

"Yes," I said simply, then quickly adding "sir."

He noticed the sir, but made it quite obvious that he didn't think too highly of it. He stood still and frowned. I didn't know how to take back a comment, so I stood still and frowned as well.

"Do you live in Beggar's Back?" He questioned, and I told him I did.

"Do you know," he said, pausing, as if for effect, "that there is more than one safe haven for beggars such as yourself?"

"No…" I only half-believed him anyway.

"I can tell you are skeptical about my previous remark."

I had absolutely no idea what skeptical meant. From his bland tone, I thought it could possibly be interpreted as I was happy about finding out this useful piece of information. I looked at him blankly. He, as if realizing that I wouldn't know what that meant, explained quickly.

"To be skeptical is to have doubts. Come, let us keep walking. The market place only keeps people for so long."

And so we kept walking. Eventually, we began to enter a poorly maintained part of town, where a few buildings had only half a roof. All off the buildings had cracks in the stone, but at least they weren't made of rotting wood. I ventured forth a question.

"Do you…ever see guards here?" I asked.

"No," the man responded, "guards don't come here, and neither do Imperialists. This part of the city is considered a rundown area that no one lives in. The Guard doesn't patrol around here, but we make sure that no fighting ever goes on. By the way, if you ever return to Beggar's Back, do not tell them of the area we are going through."

It wasn't much, and it was deserted. Still, I felt as though it was right. And it was more than I had ever had. This place was like the Imperialists section for beggars! The only problem is that there was no one to beg to. How would I forge a living?

"You may be wondering how you can make money in this place," he said, oblivious to my surprised look, "and the honest truth is, you can't."

"However," he continued, "the knowledge gained here can be used in other places."

"What?" I asked.

He sighed in a manner that made me feel particularly daft. I inspected the landscape to avoid his gaze. I noticed some of the buildings looked completely intact. Not all, but enough.

"Why are some buildings nice?" I blurted, then realizing he hadn't yet answered my previous question.

"For that, I'm afraid, you will have to wait." He said.

"Why?" I inquired.

"I cannot tell you yet…please be quiet." Duly said.

But for some reason, I was feeling exceptionally curious and had to say:

"What's your name?"

"Why do you want to know?" He countered.

"I…" For some reason, I didn't want to say anything rude to this man. "Don't know." I concluded.

"I suppose it would be alright if I gave you my beggar name. The name I use when begging is Tadat." He looked briefly at me before staring ahead once again.

I felt vaguely disappointed. Tadat? The name sounded too simple, too casual for a gentleman like this one. But then he had said his begging name. What did that mean? He must have two names, I concluded. One for begging and one for regular life? It was too confusing. Tadat wasn't even paying the slightest attention to me anymore.

The rest of the journey passed in silence, with Tadat focusing on the road and me focusing on following him.

Tadat opened the door.

"Here we are," he said, "enjoy your new home."

I looked around in surprise. On the floor was a simple yet earnest rug of red, and the ceiling was high and completely free of holes and cracks. Suddenly, a hand whipped out and grabbed me on the shoulder. I uttered a quick gasp of surprise and spun around.

It was only Tadat, looking strangely at me.

"I only wanted to tell you to wipe your feet on the entry mat. This area is cleaned regularly, but still, it is polite."

I wouldn't have known, as this was one of the few rare experiences in my life in which I was actually inside a building. I stamped my feet on the mat, looking at Tadat for approval. He had his customary frown on his face.

"No," he instructed me, "you don't stomp your feet, you wipe them." I continued to look at him, puzzled.

"As in brush them. Like this." He had taken off his shoes already and set them in a slot of a large wooden rack. There were many square sections in the rack, each big enough for two shoes. Tadat gestured at his feet as he roughly polished them on the mat.

"Oh!" I said loudly, and rubbed my feet on the mat until Tadat thought they were sufficiently cleaned.

"Much better. Now, follow me."

He began walking forward, down a lengthy hallway. At the end, I could see a desk and a person behind it. The hallway was very wide and maybe three people lying down with their arms stretched out, touching the other's feet, could have reached both walls. We promptly arrived at the desk. There was a young lady, maybe only five years older than me, shuffling through papers. In front of her lay a machine with a sheet of paper in it. She glanced up towards us, and smiled at Tadat.

"Hello, Ruslin. What can I do for you today?" The girl held eye contact with him for a few seconds, then continued grabbing at papers and hitting buttons on her machine.

"I have a new entrant for you."

"Oh, really?" She said, "I did wonder why he was here. What's your name?" She directed the last question at me.

Quietly, I mumbled: "I don't have a name."

She looked at me beseechingly, as if she didn't quite hear me.

"Don't worry, you don't have to be shy. Do you not have a name?"

I shook my head, ashamed. She, however, appeared fine with that, even with Tadat frowning his typical frown next to me.

"Do you want a name?"

I thought about it. Yes, I decided. A name would be nice to have. I nodded.

"Well, it's your name, so it can be anything you want. What shall it be?" She flipped out a quill and snatched a piece of paper out a stack on the left side of the desk.

I didn't really know what my name should be. Suddenly, I was inspired.

"Seamus."

"I'm sorry, I couldn't quite-"

"Seamus. I want my name to be Seamus."

"All right, Seamus, then that will be your new name!" The way she said it sounded good. Shay-mus. I liked the sound of it.

There was a brief silence in which she wrote something on the paper then slipped it into a slot of the computer. The girl hit some quick buttons on her machine and the sheet of paper popped back out. She handed it towards me.

"Here." Abruptly I was holding the paper. I looked to Tadat/Ruslin for support. He wasn't even looking at me. I looked to the girl.

"You have to sign it. Let me help you." After a momentary pause, she showed me how to write my name. It didn't look very pretty, but that was my name.

"Now you need one more name. This is the name you tell all the other people out there, the ones you will be asking for money. It can be anything you want, but keep it short and simple. How about Tod, or maybe Seo? It can be part of your name if you wish." She smiled at me, meeting my eyes for the first time, if only for a short time.

"Could…could I be Sean?"

"Sure," said the girl, "that's perfect! May I have the paper?"

I gave it to her. She hit a few more keys and then bestowed it to Tadat/Ruslin. "You know what to do from here." Tadat/Ruslin nodded.

"Have a good day." He said.

"You too," she said, smiling like she meant it.

At first I thought we were going to go upstairs, but Tadat/Ruslin turned around, beckoning me to follow. I glanced backwards as I turned to follow him. There were twin stairs twenty feet or so behind the desk, one heading to the left, one to the right. Well-shaped, I thought. But then I had absolutely no experience about the shaping of stairs. I yearned to go to the second floor, and was obviously quite disappointed. Still, I chased after Tadat/Ruslin, running to catch up.

"Can I call you Ruslin?"

"Not quite yet. Stay with Tadat for now."

I almost asked why, but decided to curb my tongue. We left the building at a brisk pace, pausing only for Tadat to slip on his shoes.

It was about midday, and the sun was shining through a mostly blue sky. I could feel, if only slightly, the road heating up beneath my toes. I thought Tadat looked a tad hot in his full suit of clothing. Myself, in only torn rags and having no sandals or shoes at all had no problem with the slight extra amount of sun. Ruslin strove forward with a purpose. I began having to jog to simply keep pace. Finally, he stopped and gazed into my eyes.

"Why are you running?"

"You're…going too fast," I panted, "slow down."

Tadat looked amused.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I will keep a slower pace." Of course, the obviously unspoken part was 'and you are in terrible shape, you lazy fool.' I wondered what made me want to go with him in the first place, because so far, Tadat had proved little more than a jerk. On an impulse, I almost randomly started yelling at him. I shut myself up just in time.

We arrived at a smaller building shortly after (probably due to the ridiculously fast walking rate!) and entered. The outside was fine, but the inside of this one was far more rundown than the previous structure. The floor was wood, with several dents and notches in both it and the walls. Besides one fist sized hole, there were no holes big enough to see through, although there were many that were very small. There was another shoe rack on the left, but it was hardly half of the size of the one in the other place. A few booths scattered the walls, and a bar was opposite the door. I saw one man, old and grizzled, watching me and Tadat with a bored face. He wasn't doing anything, and I wondered if we weren't just taking a pleasure stop for Tadat. I looked over at him, expecting him to be taking off his shoes. He was only looking back at me, with that signature frown.

"What?" I asked, somewhat angrily, annoyed at him for plenty of different reasons.

"Go and talk to the bartender," Tadat said, avoiding the question. "He'll tell you what to do. Good bye Sean, and I hope to see you around." He left. I quickly scampered up to the bartender. He looked at me for a second and then began what sounded like a pre-made speech:

"My name is Bortimor, and I must hereby welcome you to the Beggar's Guild." I supposed that maybe it was just something he said a lot. He stretched out his hand. I looked at it blankly. He grinned. "Never heard of a handshake?"

"No," I said, "I haven't."

Bortimor didn't look too surprised.

"See how my hand is tilted forward? My right hand?"

"No, not really" was my simple answer. I didn't know which hand was right. I had heard people say right or left, but that was for directions.

"Alright, that's fine. Make an 'L' with your thumb and forefinger-oh, wait!" Bortimor flushed a little. "Sorry! I suppose you don't know how to read?"  
I shook my head.

"Well then…this hand is your right." He said, grabbing my wrist with his weathered hand. "The other is your left. Now, for a handshake, we grab hands and move them up and down. Fairly simple."

We shook. As I touched hands, I realized I was starting to like this man. He had a refreshing sense of life, which was a healthy change from grumpy old Tadat.

"How much do you like me?" Bortimor asked as we released grips.

"I…." I struggled for words. "I like you." I wanted to say more than that, but I never was too great with talking. Bortimor sighed and it sounded like he said

something derogatory, but I wasn't sure.

"Alrighty, then! The next initiation ceremony will begin shortly." Bortimor looked at me. "You can either wait downstairs or explore outside, but I'd recommend you head down and talk to the others. There isn't much time left before it begins, and you might get lost anyways."

I awkwardly thanked him for his time and asked how to get downstairs. He gave his signature grin (which I was far more fond of than Tadat's signature frown) and opened a trapdoor behind the bar. I was stepping down the chairs when he asked one last question:

"Why did Ruslin bring you here?"

I didn't really know. I had guessed Tadat thought I was doomed to death if he didn't personally save me. But I wasn't sure enough to say.

"I don't know." I shrugged my shoulders.

"But you do know," he said as he stared at my eyes, "or you have, at least, some kind of theory. What is it?"

It was as if he knew I was lying, or had read my mind.

"I think he thought I was going to die. But I don't know." I changed my glance to the floor, looking into the trapdoor I was already halfway down.

"I was only wondering." Bortimor grinned, regaining his other status, the gravity of the situation suddenly reversed. He cuffed me lightly on the back, pushing me down into the door. I could only wonder what would be at the bottom.


End file.
